


If We Ever Find Ourselves Here Again

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [109]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Condoms, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Friends to Lovers, Penetrative Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Road Trips, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Three weeks before Bucky's supposed to report to basic training, Stevie takes him on a road trip.





	If We Ever Find Ourselves Here Again

**Author's Note:**

> Born from an earlier Mental Mimosa seed called "[An Open Book](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15637644)."

The snow was piled up to the windows when Stevie woke up, washing the world outside in an unbreaking wave of white. It was cold, too, damn right it was, but there was a vague ripple of warmth that made the air above the covers almost bearable. That and it smelled of baking bread and brewing coffee, and who could sit up without a smile on their face when a new day began with that? 

“Buck?” she called, her eyes not quite open, her arms stretched wide above her head. “You go all Betty Crocker while I was out?”

“You slept so damn long,” Bucky said, “I could’ve made a ten-course meal and I don’t think you’d have noticed.”

When she opened her eyes, Bucky was lounging in the doorway, arms crossed and legs akimbo like he’d stood his whole life. Beyond him, the main room of the cabin pulsed with firelight, the hearth doing all it could to beat back the snowstorm outside. It gave Buck a kind of glow, too, even in his beat-up dungarees and a fisherman’s sweater, nothing special; but the open affection on his face, the smoldering glow of his eyes, those were brand spanking new—happy leftovers, Stevie realized, of the night before, and that, of all the things they’d said and done since the last time the sun rose, that’s what made her blush, made her heart swell Valentine in her chest, made her feel like every dime-store novel dame she’d ever read about, melting under the gaze of her man.

Was that what Bucky was now? She flushed harder. Lord, she hoped so. But how did one go about asking that, exactly? 

_I know we’ve known each other 22 years and never so much as kissed, but last night—_

_You always say that sleeping with a girl doesn’t mean you want to marry them, and it’s not that I want to marry you, but—?_

She shook the thoughts away. No. Much safer to stick to giving Buck shit, the same as she’d done since the first day of kindergarten when she’d knocked him to the ground after he tried to cut in line for the swings.

So she made a face at him and said: “Oh, boo hoo, Barnes. Having to entertain yourself this whole time. Nothing but your own head for company, huh? How the hell did you manage that?”

Bucky snorted, shoved his hair away from his face. It looked a little damp, liked he’d run a wet comb through it. “Believe it or not," he said, "you’re not the end all and be all of conversation, Rogers. And there are these things called books now. Don’t know if you’ve heard of them, but they’re more entertaining than you. And a lot quieter, too. Kind of nice to not be talked back to every ten seconds.” 

Stevie sat back, smiling. All right, this was good. This felt normal. This felt like them, no matter the circumstances. “Oh, bullshit,” she said. “The truth is that no one will put up with you but me. You just like that books can’t fight back, don’t call you out when you’re being a prick.”

The word stopped in her throat even as it left her mouth and she felt her face heat, felt a swell up of foolishness. She’d called him that a thousand times when he was being impossible, stubborn just to get her damn goat, but now, when she said, she could see it; could remember the weight of it in her hand, the way he’d looked at her while she stroked it, like he was balsa wood and steel all at once, as if he were invincible and ready to shatter like sugar in her hand; and god, _god_ , the way it’d felt against her cunt, the heat of it, the shove, even before he started to ease it in, and—

All that in an instant, a fevered flash, and when she met his eyes, it was plain as day: what she was thinking was all over her face.

“Something you wanna share with the class, Stevie?” he said in a voice like black coffee. 

“No.”

His gaze shifted and she realized that the covers weren’t living up to their name; she’d let them go when she leaned back and they’d fallen away from her chest, hadn’t they, left the pale turn of her breasts open, exposed. Well, not so pale now; she could feel the creep of heat as Bucky looked at her, stared.

“Are you sure?” Bucky said. “It sure looks like there’s something you want to tell me.” 

She didn’t reach for the sheets like she should have. She didn’t feel bad or dirty or wrong like movies said she would, like her mother had, like every priest she’d ever seen preach had always thundered like it was a given: good girls keep their legs together until marriage. Good girls don’t like it when boys kiss them and pet the places where they’re softest, where they’re wet. And good girls sure as hell don’t go gallivanting across the country with their best friend to try to cram as much living in as they can before said friend says _I do_ to Uncle Sam and gets shipped off to keep Hitler from devouring Europe and then, less than a week in, go to bed with this friend willingly, joyfully, preen under his hands and smart-ass mouth and watch him fall into a thousand shiny pieces when he makes you come.

The sound of her own voice startled her. “Buck—”

That’s all she said, all she had to. He could hear what she really meant, she knew it; she could see it in his eyes. She’d been an open book to him her whole life.

Two steps and he was by the bed, another and he was on it, on her, his fingers eager in her hair, his face tucked between her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” she’d said the night before when he’d undressed her, when she’d helped him tug away her chemise.

His palms swallowed her breasts, gave each a gentle squeeze. “Sorry? For what, honey?”

“They’re not...I mean, they’re not very big, are they?”

His hands had stopped moving and he’d stared at her, those familiar eyes soft and wide. “Stevie, Jesus. They’re beautiful. Can’t you see that?”

There’d been a flutter in her throat, a catch of something with wings. A whisper: “You don’t have to say that." 

“Mmmm,” he’d said, sounding more like himself. “You won’t take my word for it, fine. Look at my hands, though. Look at what I’m holding.”

So she’d dipped her chin and watched his long, tanned fingers move over soft cream-colored swells; watched him catch the weight of her, balance the curve of her in his palms.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Bucky murmured. He kissed her temple, rubbed his mouth against the crown of her tumbled-down hair. “Aren’t they the prettiest things you’ve ever seen?” He swept his thumbs over her nipples and groaned when she shuddered, when she clutched at his wrists. “I think they are.” 

She’d made a low, hot sound she’d never heard before and pressed herself into his grasp, feeling a wave of something in her shudder and rush up towards the light. “That feels so good,” she’d said. “Buck, _Bucky—_ don’t stop.”

And now, as he had in the darkness, he bent his head and gave his mouth to her, too, sucking the twin blooms of her nipples into hard, rosy peaks.

She tucked her hands in his hair, in those damp, too-long strands and held him there; pressed her palms to his cheeks and squeezed; told him without speaking how good it felt, how much she wanted him, how crazy it made her for him to kiss her like that.

He had one hand spread over the base of her back, the other draped over the blankets near her hip, and he made the most wonderful noises, slick and eager, hungry, groaning against her as if he’d never get enough.

 _The great Bucky Barnes_ , she thought somewhere, smiling, digging her nails into the back of his neck. Neighborhood tough and all-around roustabout, he’d always been, now softened like soft butter just from the feel of her body.

God, why hadn’t they done this years ago? Why had they waited until there was no more time?

She leaned back against his hand, past it, and pitched herself into the pillows. His head shot up, affronted.

“Where you going?”

“Nowhere,” she said, shoving at him with her knee from beneath the blankets. “But you’re getting up and taking all of that off.”

His face lit up like Christmas. “Oh am I?” he said. “I wasn’t aware that the lady was giving the orders.”

Stevie laughed and bent an arm behind her head, made a shooing motion with her hand. “If it gets that damn scratchy sweater off of you, then fine, it’s an order.”

Bucky stood up with a flourish and made a big show of pulling the thing over his head, tossing it across the room. “There, Lieutenant Rogers, sir. You happy?” 

“No,” she said. “Lose the shirt, too. And the dungarees. And I’d rather be a captain, I think.”

Bucky kicked out of his boots, reached for the fly of his pants. “Yeah, Stevie," he cracked. "You would.”

When he was naked, she threw back the blankets and beckoned and he dove straight in, wrapped himself around her, making the covers a good goddamn mess.

“Damn it, Buck,” she said, pounding her fists on his back even as she grinned up into his face. “You gotta make everything difficult, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I always have, haven’t I? Why should this be any different?" 

There was something in his eyes suddenly that disarmed her, something more than the challenging spark that had been there a second before.

Stevie reached up and touched his cheek, let her fingers traces the ridge of his brow. His eyes shuttered and he leaned towards her hand, his mouth moving over something it looked like he couldn’t quite say, and—

God help her, she knew what it was.

 _No_ , she thought, tried to say with the tips of her fingers. _No, Buck. Please don’t_.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her, his face awash in an unmistakable sadness.

“Stevie,” he said, rough. “Stevie, honey, I—”

She couldn’t hear this—couldn’t bear to hear him say it, because what good would it do? It wouldn’t change the circumstances, wouldn’t let them escape what the Army was about to make happen—so she pulled him down to her and kissed him, hard, fed him the broadside of her tongue until he groaned, those damned words forgotten, and gave back as good as he got.

She spread her legs and he tucked himself between them, worked his hips until the heat of his cock was teasing her folds. She was wet, she could feel it; not as wet as she’d been the night before when they did this, when Bucky had buried his face between her legs and made love to her with his mouth, lapped at her with so much joy, so much glee, that it had felt like a gift. And when she’d come, clamped tight around his fingers as he sucked at her clit, the smile in his eyes had been so bright that it burned, had hung behind her lids later as he wrapped himself in a rubber and eased his way in. 

Now, her pussy didn’t feel the same way, more slick than dripping, but she felt a new sort of desperation, a different kind of impossible need. 

He was kissing her breasts again, groaning against the soft flesh, and she stroked his ear, scratched her nails into his hair. “Bucky,” she said. “Baby.”

He looked up, his mouth red, his eyes wide. “Yes, honey?”

“I need you inside me.”

Bucky blinked. “You—you what?”

“You heard me.”

His cock jerked against the inside of her thigh, anxious, but still, he hesitated.

“Right now? But I haven’t...are you sure you’re ready for me to—?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” He peered at her, skeptical, and she smiled, tried to make him smile, too. “I know what I’m getting into, Barnes. Not like you’re talking to a virgin, is it? Not after last night."

Bucky’s hips twitched and he bit his lip. “Mmmm, ok. If you insist. But that means I gotta get up for a second. Gotta let you go. Can’t blame me for not wanting to do that.”

In the years to come, she’d wonder what made her say it, what brought those two little words—little, maybe, but mighty—to the edge of her lips. “You don’t.”

This time, the kick of his cock was unmistakable, as was the bed-shaking moan. “Stevie. Jesus fucking Christ. Come on. I can’t do that.”

She smoothed her hands over his shoulders. “I want you to.”

“No, you don’t. Fuck, Stevie, what if—?” Bucky’s face rippled, a wave of something like terror. “I can’t do that to you. I’m leaving, for god’s sake!”

“I know!” she said, too loud, too loud and too angry. “I know you’re fucking leaving and yes, I know what might happen, but damn it, Buck, it might not.” She took a breath. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me or something. I’m just asking you to make me feel good.” 

He shot up and found her mouth, plunged his fingers deep into the tangled knots of her hair, and she could feel how excited he was, how much his body wanted what his head told him he shouldn’t, and it thrilled her, having him lose his sense like this because of her.

“I will,” he mumbled between kisses, fierce, fervent things that seared into her flesh. “Gonna make you feel so good, Stevie. You’ll see.”

It was hot beneath the blankets, close, and the cold air that slipped in when Bucky rose to his knees was a shock. But then he was touching her, rubbing broad and soft between her legs, stroking at the heat there, the wet.

“Oh, god,” he said. “Your face. Your face when I touch you here. It’s...fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

A whine wound its way out and she found her back arching, found herself shoving herself against his hand. “Come on,” she said as he teased his thumb over her opening. “Oh, _oh_ —need you in me, Buck. Come on. Please.” 

He groaned, his hand stilling. “Christ, Stevie.”

“Please,” she said again, meaning it more than she ever had in her life. “Fuck me.”

Bucky made a low, desperate sound and then his knees were pinned beside her hips, his head hanging heavy over hers, one arm speared into her pillow. He didn’t argue anymore, didn’t say a word, and it hurt when he pushed in, a slow, steady pressure; when his fist brushed her opening and she knew he was all the way in, it hurt in a different way, like she was so full she didn’t know what to do. It was like the first time he’d been inside her the night before, but instead of the drag of the rubber, her body was closing just around Bucky. Him, and only him.

“Shhh,” Bucky murmured. “Shhh, I’ve got you, baby.” He nuzzled her neck, laid a train of kisses there. “Give it a second. I know that it hurts. You wanna touch yourself, huh? Like you did before?”

Stevie wiggled her fingers until she could slip her hand between them and work her way down, find the curl of her clit.

Bucky sighed against her cheek. “That’s right. Right there, sweetheart. Oh. That feels good, doesn’t it? I can feel it, you rippling around me. You feel that?" 

She did, god did she, and she started to lose herself in it: the shivers of pleasure her own touch brought her, the center of heat that seemed to bloom in her chest, the shove of her nipples against the hair on Bucky’s chest, the sounds he was making as her body relaxed. She felt herself opening to him, making room for him, and when he started to move, short, warm little thrusts, the pain had softened to a low, hungry ache.

Stevie turned her head and kissed him, drank in the sounds he was making, the loud, eager groans, and she kept stroking herself, kept rubbing her clit as Bucky’s hips started to move faster, each shove of his cock deeper, more insistent.

“Stevie,” he panted, “Stevie, honey, I’ve never—I don’t know if I can—”

Both his hands were grabbing her pillow now, the whole of his body surrounding hers, slamming in. 

He swallowed hard, tried again. “I’ve never fucked anyone without a…like this, and it’s, oh god, it’s—” He moaned, a sound that drove into her heart, made her pussy form a fist, tight. “Fuck, Stevie, you feel so good, honey, I’m just—I can’t help it, I’m gonna—”

When he’d come the night before, she’d felt it like a kind of distant echo, been aware of a hint of the heat he was spilling. But now, with nothing between them, when Bucky came, she could feel everything, every pulse of his cock, every shudder of wet, and it made her feel electric, like a stripped--down live wire, like an ember that had leapt at last from the fire. And he was still moving, still pushing, even as he emptied himself, some ancient instinct more powerful than good, solid sense.

He was roaring, making all kind of dirty noise in her ear, over her mouth, and her hand was still moving, still turning frantic circles over her clit even as he collapsed against her, his arms giving way as his hips kicked one last thrust. Bucky was still inside her, though, still filling her even as he softened, and when he kissed her, whole and loving and good, she felt the push up of pleasure, the rush, and shuddered beneath him, her cries tumbling from between their lips and filling the room with their happy weight.

“Love you,” he said, something more than a whisper, less than a shout. “God help me, Stevie, I’ve loved you forever.”

“Forever doesn’t have to end,” she said, hoarse. “Even if you’re on the other side of the globe.”

He slid out of her and tumbled to her side, tugged her into his arms. “It’s not a vacation. You know that. I hear the Nazis even shoot back.”

“So you’d better learn how to duck." 

He chuckled. “You’ve sure as hell given me enough practice.”

Stevie shook her head and stretched her fingers over his chest, found his heart. “What? I haven’t punched you since the day that we met.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, pitching his hand over hers. Squeezing. “Exactly. See? I learned how to get out of the way.”

They lay there in the quiet, in the pitched fit mess of the bed. The snow wasn’t going anywhere fast and so neither were they, but that was ok, Stevie figured. They had two weeks to get Buck back to Paramus, two weeks to wind their way down to Utah and Nevada before swinging their way through Texas and New Orleans, maybe, before turning up north towards home.

Two weeks of this, of being together, and who knew if they’d every have that again?

She shifted her hips and felt the ache there, the different sort of wet.

They’d wasted so much time not telling each other the truth, not being honest about how they felt. But there was no use crying over that now, no use doing anything except holding tight to each other as long as they could, as long as their kind of forever would allow.

“Bucky?”

“Yes, honey?” 

“I love you.”

Bucky touched the edge of her eye, gentle, and smoothed back her tears. “Good,” he said. “I’ll do everything I’ve gotta to make sure you never have to stop.” 

She closed her eyes then and kissed him and there were no more words for a long, long time, after that.


End file.
